


Counting Sheep

by BenevolentErrancy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Insomnia, Leaving Vishkar, Literal Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: Machines and engines, bots and bombs, Junkrat understood those sorts of things. They were easy. Things like that, you could pull them apart to figure out what had gone wrong, and if you couldn't fix it, then you scrapped it. Simple.People were a different matter entirely, and insomnia was an insidious thing. But Junkrat was a junker and a resourceful one at that; he would find a way to fix this. He couldn't be allowed to fail, it was too important.





	1. Chapter 1

Junkrat sat with his feet up against the edge of his work desk and his back bent into a question mark. Satya had made many comments before about how such a position could neither be comfortable nor good for him, but he'd seen her dancing and there was no way _any_ of those positions could be either comfortable or good for _any_ body. At least he wasn't tied up like a pretzel. In any case, it felt good to curl up on himself, like he could think without being distracted.

And right now he definitely needed to think.

Something was wrong and so far he had completely failed to figure out how to fix it. After all, this wasn't just some piece of scrap that was beyond salvage, he couldn't just toss this problem away and scrounge something better – this _was_ the best and his problem was that he needed there to be a way to make it _better_. So here he was, chewing his lip bloody in concentration as he struggled to balance the steel trap on his knees while his foot bounced against the desk edge in agitation.

There wasn't a damn thing wrong with this thing. It looked _great_. The spring was tight, trigger responsive, teeth nasty as a croc's, and the pressure it could deliver was enough to break a leg, never mind just disabling. So why hadn't his plan worked? It always seemed to sort things out for him, he knew nothing was bloody well going to get past these things once he'd gotten his line of defense laid – and if something tried, he'd be alerted with plenty of time to feed the intruder a grenade up the clacker.

The more he looked at the trap though, or any of its fellows, the more certain Junkrat was that there was no mistake to be found. He and Satya had once spent a long night together going over them.  She'd gotten stumped over some project of hers and had wanted to step away. She had “gotten too close”, she'd said, and had needed to focus on something else to clear her head.  While Junkrat would mull over a puzzle until the pieces slotted together right in his mind, she claimed that without the fresh perspective that time gave, one would keep making the same mistakes. That was what had lead to Satya going over his designs for these traps – he hadn't exactly offered, but she'd swanned over and started making oh-so-smart remarks, and then he'd had no choice but to defend himself.  It'd been a corker of a night; when they were working together they made a good team even if Satya didn't have a head for scrap, and this model was now better than anything he'd ever had back in Oz. 

But now, for once in his life, finding his work perfectly functional was  _annoying_  him. As much as he hated finding a flaw in his own designs, if there had been something fundamentally wrong with the steel trap or any of his other safeguards, he could have fixed it. But no, whatever was going on right now was more complicated than that and Junkrat _didn't_ know how to fix that. You couldn't take a screwdriver to a problem like this.

Often Junkrat had scorned these soft-living whackers that had never so much as set foot on Oz, who'd grown up with this nice, squishy life were you just went out and _bought_ things and food was easy to find and water was drinkable and most people didn't want to kill you as soon as look at you. Junkrat had learnt to survive and he did it better than anyone else here. He might not be the strongest or the fastest or even the smartest, but you could put money on it that if things went sideways, Junkrat would be the one left standing. He always was. But it was times like this when Junkrat felt the jealous ache that wished his mum had never gone near Australia and that he'd been born in some proper city learning proper things. He would have never thought he'd one day wish he could trade manners for bombs, but right now that was how it felt, then maybe he'd know how to fix this. But he was a junker, born and bred, and he didn't know how to fix things that weren't sharp and cold and metal; he certainly didn't know how to fix _people_.

“What do you do when you don't know how to fix something, ye drongo,” he muttered to the steel trap.

With a flick of his wrist he picked up the trap and mimed it speaking back, dropping his voice low as he answered, “Take it apart 'til you do.”

Junkrat scowled at the trap. “Can't rightly take a person apart, can I?” He considered this thought though, and laughed to himself. “Coppers don't tend like it, at least. 'Sides, I like the shape of this one.”

He mimed the trap speaking again, “Then find someone that does.”

Junkrat stopped and blinked for a moment, running that idea around in his head. After all, he hadn't been born knowing how to dissect an engine or build a bomb, right? At some point way back, far enough back that his memory was too fuzzy to remember the whats or whos of the situation, someone must have taught him. Maybe he was just a junker Aussie that couldn't fix things like this, but not everyone on this base was. All he had to do was make them tell him how.

So who was good at fixing people?

Junkrat's grin spread slowly as the idea blossomed in his head.  With a leap that sent his chair spinning back, hejumped up from his seat, tossed aside the steel trap which crashed shut with an angry clang, and crowed to himself, “I'm a bloody genuis!”

It was time to pay the good doctor a visit.

-

Junkrat entered the infirmary carefully, eyeballing the sterile, white room warily. Nothing bad had ever actually happened in here, per se, but Junkrat's experience with medical aid had been colourful enough that he treated it and all its trappings with what he considered an appropriately level of caution. You never knew when a doctor might get itchy fingers and decide to lop of a limb for fun, right? Flesh merchants were right bastards - after all there was money to be made from having extra bits lying around when a rich bloke broke down, and Junkrat wasn't interested in being some bastard's spare parts. And sure, roight, everyone swore up and down that the doc wasn't about to do that (she herself had looked horrified that Junkrat would even suggest it) but there were other things a doctor could do in any case. What about when they slapped something onto ya or into ya that burned like the devil himself had come down for you, as if they'd decided you clearly weren't in enough pain as it was? No thank you!

Still, angel-wings seemed okay as far as doctors went, especially when she could be convinced to give the healing a rest and give ya some real gas with that stick of hers, made you feel like you were made up of little explosions all ready to go off in some bastard's face.

“Oh, hello Jamison, are you feeling alright?” called Angela from where she was standing by an arrangement of screens on the wall, making notes about whatever gibberish was written there.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, don't go getting any funny ideas,” Junkrat warned, bounding forward and dropping himself onto one of the cots.

Angela gave a little sigh through her nose, making Junkrat look down and realize he was already leaving grey smudges of the clean, white sheets. Huh. He knew Satya didn't like the feeling of soot and grease on her hands, or the marks they left, so he'd gotten better about tidying up after his work, but he _had_ just come from the shop. What'd she expect? Honestly, he couldn't figure out these people's fret about “mess” in any case. A bit of dirt was good for you, kept you from burning up in the sun, right? Still, he made a half-hearted effort to rub his hands off on his shorts – he _was_ here trying to get information out of the doctor, better to butter her up.

“Look, I've got a question for ya. A people-sorta question, about how to, y'know, fix 'em up when something's not workin' right.”

“Okay...” said Angela carefully, moving around to sit on the bed next to Junkrat's. “And what is it that's not 'working right'?”

“Sleepin'. What do you do when someone can't sleep right?”

Angela blinked, as if this wasn't what she was expecting. “That would depend somewhat on the nature of the problem. Is this a... recent development?”

“Pretty recent, yeah,” said Junkrat.

“...And the person having difficulties sleeping wouldn't happen to be you, would it?” she asked wryly.

Junkrat scowled. “Doesn't rightly matter, okay? I'm asking how to fix it, not for your to go adding any little notes to those documents you keep on us.”

Shaking her head, Angela said, “You need to understand that medical records are not used for anything as sinister as you seem to think they are. And helping to cure a medical issue is quite different than fixing, say, a gun. There are rarely one-size-fits-all answers. For example, is the recent sleep disruption of a physical or mental nature?”

“A what now? It's just... not sleeping. Bad dreams and thoughts and shit, right? Loud head. How d'you make it go away?” He chuckled to himself. “Without losing the head, that is.”

“I'm afraid I can't make bad dreams go away as easily as I can a cut or a burn, Jamie. If the thoughts are of a persistent, troubling nature, I would recommend seeking psychological counseling. ...I could provide some here, if that's what you would feel most comfortable with, but I must admit I'm not an expert in that field. It would be more a discussion among friends.” Again, she sighed. “Overwatch isn't what it used to be. We used to have medical facilities that were the envy of the world, state-of-the-art and fully staffed. And of course that included a very comprehensive psychological counseling division. Though we _do_  currently have quite a good, resident... therapist, I suppose you could call him. But given yours and Zenyatta's rather... turbulent relationship, I'm not sure I would recommend it.”

“I am _not_ talking with the bot,” Junkrat snapped. “This isn't what I need at all. I just need a way to help make a person fall asleep, don't go making this complicated.”

At that, Angela laughed. “Yes, heaven forbid I make psychology _complicated_.” She rolled her eyes. “If it is truly just a matter of falling asleep, then I suppose I _could_ prescribe some sleeping pills. However if you're looking for something a bit more home-brew, well...” She shrugged. “I always prescribe myself a cup of hot milk with honey, perhaps some cinnamon and vanilla too... and a good book until I feel myself calm down for the evening.”

Junkrat immediately perked up. “Yeah? What, milk, honey, and a book? I can do that.”

Angela smiled. “Well, I hope it helps. Of course, everyone has different nighttime routines to help them fall asleep, it may do well to experiment a little. Come back and talk to me if you need to though, or if the problems persist.”

“Sure, sure, thanks, doc.”

“My pleasure, Jamie.”

With that concluded, Junkrat bouncing back to his feet and set off towards the infirmary door with great, striding bounds. To think he'd spent so long browbeating himself trying to figure out what was wrong, when a solution could be this easy. A cup of milk? It was an almost comically simply solution to a problem that had been going on for weeks. And now that he had a plan, he was hell-bent on beating a solution out of it. This was something he  _had_ to fix. It was too important to fail.

-

 


	2. Chapter 2

Junkrat moved down the wide, empty halls of the Watchpoint quickly, leg echoing loudly with each step as he made his way to the kitchen. It wasn't even noon yet, but the doctor hadn't exactly given him a recipe after all, might take a few test runs to get a formula that worked right. Couldn't be harder than mixing a good black powder though, right? It only had four ingredients, and nothing likely to explode. He'd get it sorted now and have the perfect recipe rearing to go by bedtime and then, tada! Instant fix and good dreams for everyone. Oh, and he'd have to find a book. Fuck, now that'd be harder, he wasn't exactly the _erudite_ sort... hmm...

Despite part of his mind being occupied with this particular puzzle, the rest was still running along at its usual breakneck speeds, he was like... what had Lucio said, whales? No, dolphins. He'd said they sleep with only half their brains turned off, so the other half could watch out for danger. Well Junkrat, so he thought smugly, only _thought_ with half a brain. As he clomped down the wide, empty hall, his gaze instinctively darted along to check the alcoves and doorways leading off – even in a place like this, you couldn't be to careful. Get complacent and get killed, and in a place this big and twisty there were a lot of spots for someone to be lurking. Nothing had tried to attack him yet, but the day they did, he'd be ready... and until then, his divided attention paid off in a different, unexpected way. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of someone through one of the doors, and immediately he knew what he was going to do.

Inside was one of the Watchpoint's recreational rooms. It was largely empty, except for Tracer who was lounged out fully on the couch, a phone to her ear. The doctor _had_ said that everyone had different fixes for this sort of problem after all, and it wasn't like it was possible to be _too_ well-armed... Junkrat sprang in.

“You're just the person I was lookin' for, zippy!” he called. Well, she'd been exactly who he'd been looking for as soon as he'd seen her. Might as well use the tools left lying in his path, right?

Tracer started, and moved a hand over the receiver of the phone. “I– can this wait? I'm kinda in the middle of something...”

“It is _literally_ life or death, mate.”

Tracer was up from the couch in a flash of blue, grabbing onto Junkrat's arm with one hand while the other still held the phone. “ _What?_ What's happened?” And then to the phone she said, “I'll be back in a tick, Em, something's come up.”

“Well, maybe not _literally_ ,” Junkrat conceded. “More, wassacallit, metaphorically. But I've got a question for you.”

Tracer's hand tightened on his arm as she gaped on him; Junkrat grinned winsomely back down at her. Or he liked to think it was winsome – if her thunderous expression was anything to go off of, he may have missed the mark.

“Really? This was the first time I've had a chance to sit down and talk to Emily in a _week_...”

“Look, I just have one quick question, then I'll go and let you go back to schmoozing with your girl...”

“I was not–! Oh, alright, fine.” She'd let go of his arm to run a resigned hand down her face, which Junkrat counted as a win. “Let's get this over with, that's going to be the quickest way, isn't it? What did you want, Junkrat?”

“Right, look, so the seppo was tellin' some stories about you...”

“And McCree doesn't half have stories... remind me to thank him for this,” she grumbled. “What'd he go say now?”

“Ha! I'm not talkin' about the _fun_ ones, don't worry. Nah, he was talkin' about that time you went and blew yourself up in time, or somethin'? How you disappeared and need that glowy engine of yours to stop yerself from goin' poof.”

“That's... one way to put it, I suppose,” said Tracer.

“So my question–”

“Hold on, I'm going to stop you there. Remember how I said you were never getting your hands on my bombs? Well it goes double for this.”

“What? Nah, I was _gonna_ say – if you'd let a bloke finish – that you must have some right awful nightmares, some real doozies, right? What with all that basically dyin' and stuff...”

“So tell me again why you thought this was something I'd want to talk about?” demanded Tracer.

“I just thought, the idea that you could pop off into nowhere an' the only thing stopping you is some fancy watch working properly, that'd scare the shit outta anyone, right?”

“Good _bye_ , Junkrat,” Tracer said with some force as she shoved him backwards towards the door.

“Wait wait wait, come on shiela, don't be like that! What do you do when you can't sleep?”

Junkrat drooped backwards against the hands shoving on his back until Tracer was straining under his weight – it felt like trying to hold up a pillar of soggy concrete; she shoved her head against his shoulders with a groan.

“You want to know what I do when I'm having _nightmares_? What the heck, Junkrat.”

“Hey, it's a simple question.”

“I... I...” She swallowed. “If I wake up in the night, I just look at where I've got my accelerator docked. It's bright enough that it's like a nightlight, and it reminds me that I'm still here and safe. ...Waking up in the same bed as Emily doesn't hurt either. Why do you want to know?”

Junkrat straightened up quick enough that Tracer nearly fell forward onto her face when his weight was no longer there to push against.

“Oh, no reason, just askin'. Thanks, mate!”

With that, he left, though he was pretty sure he heard Tracer's voice saying from somewhere behind him, “Yeah, Em, I'm back, I... No, don't ask. Just normal Overwatch weirdness.”

Well, he wouldn't be able to get his hands on Tracer's chronal accelerator, that was for sure, and he had a feeling she wouldn't let him borrow her girlfriend either, but what had she said – it was a nightlight? He wasn't entirely sure what a “nightlight” was supposed to be but he was confident he could figure it out.

He chuckled to himself, feeling pleased. This wasn't so hard after all. Now, who else would have ideas...

-

“What I use to fall asleep?” said Hana, looking up from her magazine to where Junkrat was perched on the arm of the couch. “Video games.”

“I thought you used video games as a _substitute_ for sleep,” said Lúcio, bouncing the leg Hana had her head resting on. She swatted at him. “Don't give me that,” he said, “I couldn't sleep for a _week_ after you showed me that one horror game...”

“Well obviously I'm not going to put on something like that if I actually want to fall asleep. When you're sleepy, that's when you put on something cute and brainless. Mario's existed for like a million years, just pick one of those games and zone out. Nintendo's your friend for sleepy evenings.”

“I'd just go for a cup of tea and some quiet music. Lulls you right off,” said Lúcio.

“Dude, what the heck, and you think _my_ suggestion's going to keep you awake? You literally just recommend that he go drink _caffeine_ before bed. As if Junkrat ever needs caffeine, _ever_.”

“You _can_ get teas without caffeine,” Lúcio pointed out, while Hana mouthed _what's the point then?_ to Junkrat. “Though if you're listening to music in bed, trust me, you want wireless headphones. Waking up half-strangled is _not_ a good time, let me tell you.”

“Right, right, wireless,” said Junkrat, jotting that into his notebook. It was a dirty, scrappy little thing that had been dragged over half the world at this point, and was normally filled with Junkrat's ideas and sketches for bombs and traps and gadgets. Right now though a new page has been opened and Junkrat was making a careful list of everything he'd been recommended so far – he didn't trust his memory at the best of times and he really didn't want to risk forgetting any of this.

Music wouldn't be hard to get, any of the computers would play that, and tea would be easy too – Satya had plenty he could pilfer. The game though...

“Can I borrow one?” he asked Hana. “One of your...” He mimed holding a handheld game console.

“Uh... I guess? But you _have_ to promise your not going to turn it into something weird,” she warned. “I don't want to get it back and find out it explodes if you beat the final boss or something.”

“Sure, sure, not a problem,” Junkrat promised. “And can I get a game that's good for falling asleep?”

Hana tossed aside her magazine. “Come on, I'll show you what I got. We'll hook you up with something perfect,” she promised, rather conspiratorially, trying and failing to put an arm around Junkrat's shoulders. Lúcio rolled his eyes, but stretched and joined them.

-

“Do I _wanna_ know why you're in my room?”

Junkrat had started when he heard the shush of a door opening, accompanied by the telltale thump of cowboy boots. By the time McCree had entered the room, Junkrat had jumped to his feet and was standing guiltily next to McCree's bed, his hands hidden behind his back.

“No?” suggested Junkrat.

McCree eyeballed the Junker for the moment before huffing and entering the room fully. “Let me reword that. _What_ are you doing in my room, 'Rat?”

“Ah, y'know,” said Junkrat noncommitally as he edged towards the door McCree had just entered from; McCree still stood bodily in front of it though, arms crossed. “Hey, I got a question for you. What do you do when you can't sleep?”

“If this is some inane question to distract me, you're gonna have to do a _lot_ better than that,” McCree warned.

“Nah, nah, honest. Say you're dreaming about that crazy smoke guy that was your dad or whatever an' he's tryin' to kill you – what d'you do then?”

Maybe Junkrat had touched a nerve, or maybe he'd just risked inching a little too close to where McCree stood guard over the door, because quick as a viper McCree's hand shot out and snagged one of the arms hidden behind Junkrat's back, jerking him forward. Junkrat stumbled, baring his hands in an act that might have been considered submissive if it weren't accompanying one of Junkrat's leers. They were both empty. Junkrat grinned innocently at McCree as he resettled his footing, though he didn't bother trying to pull away. McCree's eyes narrowed with suspicion... before he just shook his head and took a step back.

“What I do? I cuddle a stuffed horse named Frisky. Happy?”

“What, really?” asked Junkrat with a startled bark of laughter.

McCree just shrugged. “I suppose you'll never know, will you? Now, Junkrat? Get the hell outta my room.”

Junkrat didn't need telling twice; the second McCree was no longer blocking the door Junkrat had slipped out. McCree's voice followed after him, “And if Genji was behind this, you tell him this cowboy always pays his dues!” As he skidded along out of sight, Junkrat surreptitiously patted the pouch on his hip, to make sure his prize had been safely slipped away inside.

-

“Exercise,” said Fareeha from where she was chopping vegetables.

Junkrat had finally made his way to the kitchen to get started on his milk experiments and that was were he found the Amaris, who apparently were on dinner duty tonight.

“The best way to fall asleep is to exhaust yourself first. Nothing that'll get your heart rate up too high or you'll just get yourself wired, but a good jog? Or maybe just some sit ups and crunches in your room? Helps get your brain into a better space, relaxes you, and then you're tired enough that you can just drop into bed and fall straight to sleep.”

“Uh huh,” said Junkrat, making scribbling in his notebook.

“Oh I don't know,” said Ana mischievously from the pot she was seasoning. “That was never what _used_ to put you to sleep. You used to be such a fussy little sleeper; I used to accuse your father of feeding you sugar before bed. But all I needed to do was pick you up and rock you a bit and there you'd go. You were asleep and drooling in seconds. Worked all the way up until you were in preparatory school.”

“ _Mother_ ,” said Fareeha.

“Write that down, Jamie,” said Ana, waving her spoon at him. Dutifully Junkrat did so, the whole time smirking at Fareeha who was shaking her head.

“I'd like to see you try that now,” she grumbled at her mother.

“Now it's _my_ turn to be rocked,” said Ana decisively. “All those muscles of yours must be good for _something_. Now Jamie, you were talking about hot milk, what you want in there is nutmeg...”

-

By the time evening rolled around, no one could say it hadn't been a productive day. The confusion he'd left in his wake had really just been the cherry on top.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Her room was dark and silent when the soft knock came. Satya considered ignoring it; feigning the sleep that should have easily come to her by now. Instead of sleeping though, for the past hour she has lain awake feeling restless and fretful in the dark as she tossed and turned in bed. Once it was that the dark of her room – be it at the Academy, or in her Vishkar apartment, or in one of the many hotel rooms across the globe she had stayed in – had been a peaceful lull after the bright lights and chaos of the day. This, however, was no longer the case. The dark was no haven nor was the silence a comfort; instead her ears and eyes were filled with memories and fears that could be just barely suppressed by the bustle of the day, but which raked through her mind like claws once the darkness came, accompanied by the anxiety that crawled over her skin.

There was another knock, still soft, barely there, trying not to disturb her if she _was_ asleep. Despite her wakefulness, the thought of trying to find the energy to speak with another person was overwhelming. If it were Winston or Morrison, come to to rouse her for an unexpected mission, or Torbjörn or Brigitte come to consult her about something in the workshop... Just thinking about it, on top of the exhausted mess she currently was, made her moan into her pillow.

But she also did not want to lay alone with her demons any longer, and she knew from a week's worth of experience, that the night would be long and lonely on her own.

“Sym? You awake?” He always thought his voice was quieter than it was but Satya couldn't help but smile. To think the prospect of seeing Junkrat would be a _soothing_ one. She could never have imagined it only a few months ago.

“I am,” she answered, and didn't move as the door slipped open and the sound of Junkrat's lopsided steps entered.

“Figured you would be. You were, right? I didn't wake you up?”

“No. I was awake.”

Junkrat made a humming noise, which might have been sympathetic or might simply have been vague acknowledgment, it was hard to say. Regardless, when Satya inched a little closer to the wall he sat on down in the space she had made for him, shifting until his legs were stretched out fully and his back was sloped against the wall; Satya rolled back over, laying her head against his thigh and draping her arms across his legs. Finally, after an hour of trying to pretend to herself that she was falling asleep, she let loose a low, pitiful noise. Every bit of regret, fear, exhaustion, and anticipation filled that little noise, and immediately it brought Junkrat's hand down onto her head, his fingers carding through her hair. She was tired enough that the physical contact was almost too much, but the weight and rhythm of his hand was a soothing balm against her frayed nerves.

“How you feelin'?” he asked.

Satya stared dimly out into the dark, eyes focusing idly on the shift of his shorts. She considered what she would have told Sanjay, if he were the one asking her such a thing. Perhaps she would have simply told him that she was doing fine – adequate to perform her function. Or maybe she would have admitted that she was tired, and that it may affect her work output. Or maybe she would have said nothing, let the question wash past her, pretended not to have heard. He may have even been able to tell she was wilfully ignoring him, but probably wouldn't have pressed – he knew how she felt about _emotions_ , how complex and confusing and stressful they could be and how she loathed trying to shape them into words.

Of course, in reality, she would never have been in that sort of situation with Sanjay; at Vishkar, relationships were kept professional.

What she had was Junkrat, this strange, volatile, exhilarating mix of coworkers and friends and... whatever they were now, was _not_ that. It was still new and strange and bright. She had no precedent for this sort of relationship, no handy script she could follow. It may have been more stressful, were it not for the fact that she knew Junkrat didn't follow _any_ of the scripts you would expect from most people. At first she had found this unpredictability stressful and obnoxious because he didn't respond to anything she said or did in a way she expected someone too, and would then turn around and say things to her she could never have prepared for; it had, however, gradually become a strangely liberating sensation. It was something that allowed her to sit in the workshop late at night and chat idly with Junkrat, when normally the thought of doing so with anyone else at the end of an already long day would have been chafing. She didn't need to be “on”, while he was around, she didn't need to guard her words or her tone or her expressions. She could sit in dead silence with him, each concentrating on their own projects with a hyperfocus few others could match, and it wouldn't make her feel like someone was waiting for her to fill the silence with polite nonsense. She could speak at length about what she was working on without worrying about coming across as self-absorbed or annoying, because he found it as interesting as she did. And when he pulled some strange story or topic out of the air she had learnt that he expected nothing in particular out of her for it, that he only felt compelled to talk.

So right now she _could_ choose to say nothing, or tell him she didn't want to talk about it, or give a polite lie, but the thing was... she didn't have to. Many things impressed Junkrat, but he himself was blunt and raucous and didn't expect anyone else to be otherwise. Honesty would not shock or offend.

So she spoke into the darkness. “Tired. Exhausted. Like I wish all of this would end already, and I could get back to doing something useful. I... I just... I just really want to _sleep_.” The confession was raw and surprisingly hard to say. Emotions swelled in her throat, so thick and immediate they were hard to identify but no less consuming. She really, really, really just wanted to rest.

“Roight, well, sit up a bit, I brought you things.”

Well, it wasn't like lying down was helping. Satya complied, pushing herself up so that she was nestled between her pillow and Junkrat's side. Once he was satisfied that she could see, he reached over the side of the bed and pulled up...

“Oh don't be like that, it's nothing explosive, promise,” he said. “This was just the only good box I could find to carry it all.”

Given that the “only good box” was one of the reinforced crates that Junkrat used in the workrooms to safely store his bombs (on Winston's insistence), Satya felt justified in being a little leery. Still, she satisfied herself in raising a skeptical eyebrow, and resisted commenting.

Not that she would have had much of a chance. Already Junkrat was rooting in the crate, and before she knew what to expect something large and bright had been shoved into her face. Seeing no other option, she reached out and took it from him, rather surprised by the weight. Turning it around in her hands, she saw that it was a device of sorts, made of steel and glass or some adjacent, and it gave off a faint, white glow.

“I don't...”

“It's a nightlight!”

Lit by the... nightlight, Junkrat beamed at her. Something about her body language must have conveyed the confusion she was feeling though, because his face drooped a bit.

“Well, not _exactly_ a nightlight,” Junkrat allowed. “Had to look that one up – apparently nightlights are just... lights people turn on at night? Seems right stupid to me, 'cause then everyone's gonna see where you are and honestly that just smacks of trouble. But then again, I suppose everyone already knows where you are 'round here so it doesn't really matter. But most of the ones in the pictures are shaped like cutesy animals and sheit and there's not a lot of that 'round here, so I nicked this from the monkey's lab and figured it's about right.”

“You– you _what_? You can't just take something from the lab, Jamison!”

“Psh, he wasn't usin' it, an' I'll put it back tomorrow. 'Sides, it's not like you're planning on blowin' it up or something, right? Right, so it's fine. Here, I have more.”

Before Satya could form any further argument, Junkrat had reached back into the box and was pulling something new out. Satya nearly dropped the device when something large and squishy was shoved into her hands.

“It's a... stuffed animal?” she said. That, at least, she felt somewhat more confident in identifying. Given that it was soft and plush there wasn't much room for misinterpretation, even though the thing's body looked like nothing Satya had ever seen before. It was a grinning, tentacled... onion?

“They're pachi-whatevers. Technically it's one of Hoggie's so, uh... maybe don't mention that you have it; the big lug's weirdly protective of them. Then again he likes you, so maybe it wouldn't matter... Hmm. Either way, he's got enough to share, probably won't even notice this one's gone. 'Sides, I must've won at least half of 'em for him anyways, he's right _terrible_ at those claw games...”

While a part of Satya felt she _really_ should cut Junkrat off before she saw how many other stolen goods he had in that box of his, she had to admit that the plushy wasn't unpleasant to hold. It was big and was a pleasing weight on her lap, and its soft, fuzzy body felt blissful under her fingers as she absently stroked her hand up and down its strange head.

The next thing that came out of the box was a stack of books, traditional paper ones rather than a digital tablet. Those were dumped into her lap and she was only able to catch the briefest glimpse at one of them (it looked, oddly enough, like some sort of American western, at least if the horse on the cover was anything to go by) before the next thing was pulled out.

“Don't really know why anyone would want to waste their time with those things,” Junkrat was muttering, gesturing to the books, “but this I can get behind!”

It was a hand held game console – Satya was only vaguely familiar with it, knew it was a recent model, but didn't really know much beyond that; she had never played anything of the sort. Growing up, she'd had much more pressing duties than shooting pixels and her instructors would _not_ have approved at all, not when she could have been using that time to study. It was, however, very recognizable for a very different reason: the pink case with its printed bunny face didn't leave any doubts as to who he got _this_ one off of.

“You realize if you stole this from Hana she may attempt to kill you when she finds out,” Satya commented, amused.

“Aw, but I got you to protect me, right?” Satya couldn't help but return Junkrat's enormous grin with a smile of her own, even though she assured him she definitely would not be getting between him and an angry Hana being protective over her games. “Doesn't matter anyways, I asked to use that one, polite as you like, I'm not _stupid_.”

 _No, you're just the sort of person that would steal a stuffed toy from the seven foot tall mountain of a man that could crush you in one hand,_ Satya thought, rather fondly. _Or take an incredibly valuable and likely dangerous piece of tech from a literal gorilla..._ though admittedly Winston was much more likely to just give Junkrat a stern talking to rather than actually attempt to rend him limb from limb, something Satya wouldn't put past either Roadhog _or_ Hana if pressed.

“This is... interesting, Jamie, but... why?” she asked eventually.

Junkrat's face fell. “What, none of it work? It's okay, it's okay, I've got more...”

She put her hand on Junkrat's arm, stilling him. “First just tell me how it's _supposed_ to work. Why all the... gifts, Jamison?”

He blinked at her, his face scrunched up in the way it got when he was reexamining his spotty memory, as if he was trying to recall whether he really hadn't mentioned that part of the plan to Satya.

“S'just... you've been miserable, since you haven't been able to sleep, an' the traps weren't helpin', so I thought I'd figure out how to fix it for ya. Been doin' research and everything, you should like that, and this is all supposed to help! Then you can get to sleep and stop being miserable about those two-faced suited bastards you kicked to the dirt!”

Junkrat's... intensity and conviction, it was misguided, perhaps, but it was also, strangely sweet. And Satya wasn't sure what to do with any of that; she found herself jerking her face away from his determined expression. But at least now she could see the strange concoction of gifts that now littered her bed and understand the sense behind it, and behind Junkrat's logic.

Junkrat's concerns quite often centred on an immediacy that became lost to Satya. She too often became fixated on a distant, looming future. But for Junkrat, this made sense she supposed. Not to say Junkrat couldn't plan, he could be incredibly devious and was a surprisingly clever strategist when he wanted to be, but his life had been a series of looking for the next meal, the next safe place to rest, getting away from the current menace after him. He didn't understand what she'd gone through by choosing to finally turn her back on Vishkar, not really. What did it matter to him if he upset someone? Sure they might try to get back at him, but in the heart of the Australian Outback they were just as likely to be dead tomorrow, and in the meantime he would have filled an immediate need by screwing them over in the first place. Satya didn't think that way, couldn't think that way, not when she saw every carefully interwoven branching path laid out before her.

She couldn't think like him, and he couldn't think like her, and neither could fully understand what the other was going through, that had certainly been made abundantly clear on the fourth night of her insomnia, as she lay awake thinking and thinking and thinking herself into circles about that last, terminal encounter with Vishkar and Sanjay. Junkrat had found her curled up in bed, crying, overwhelmed by it all. The moment she tried to sleep, the thoughts of what she had done and all the myriad of ways it would affect her future consumed her, making her brain spin like an overworked computer fan, until she was left exhausted and wretched. When she'd finally confessed to him that she couldn't sleep, confessed, with some reluctance, about her split from Vishkar and how it was affecting her, Junkrat had sprung into action. Except his response had been to haul in an enormous bag of traps and carefully rig them up around her room. His first assumption was that her inability to sleep was due to fear, and that the fear was due to angering her former handlers, that there would be some sort of reprisal on their part. That was what Junkrat would be afraid of: the immediate consequences to his actions and how they could hurt him. So he had attempted to help her sleep by creating a “secure” environment, a place no one could penetrate and in which she could sleep safely. Because a safe place to sleep was one of Junkrat's principal concerns.

And while it had been a touching gesture it, of course, did not help. Because Satya knew Vishkar would not immediately acknowledge her quitting as anything significant, they wouldn't want to show themselves as being ruffled, and even if they did try to take action against her it wouldn't happen in her room in a guarded Overwatch facility by assassins in the night. No, what kept her awake was seeing a carefully planned future, a nurtured past, an entire belief system, cave out from under her feet. You couldn't set a trap for a paralyzing fear of an unknown future.

...Not that Junkrat wasn't apparently willing to try.

Every night since, he'd come to her room and set up his traps and climb into bed next to her. Eventually a brief, fitful sleep would take her, swept in on exhaustion more than anything, and it would generally be tucked against Junkrat's side, soothed by his hand in her hair. Sometimes he fell asleep before her, but more often than not he stayed awake at her side, a silent guardian trying to push back against the fear and insecurity and self-loathing in her mind. You would think someone as practical as Junkrat would have realized by now that it was a futile effort.

And yet he was still trying. It was clear Junkrat didn't see the purpose of any of the things he'd packed into that box of his. He either slept or he kept busy with work – it wasn't unusual to see him in the workshop late, late into the night. But here he was, seeking out solutions to a problem that he didn't understand, and which didn't even have a possible solution beyond Satya coming to terms with what she had done by quitting Vishkar... or coming to terms with what she had spent years doing before that in working with them, the harm she herself had personally caused.

Sitting in the dark, lit only by the glow of Winston's pilfered tech, Satya pressed her face against her knees. Fatigue was carved into every bone.

“None of this will help, it's not that _simple,_ ” she said. What she had meant to say was _thank you, for trying_. It hurt though, it hurt so much to think she couldn't find a simple solution, that she couldn't create a plan or a device or a strategy to deal with this, like she did with everything else.

“Oh. Alright, then. Thought I'd take a stab at it anyway.”

The objects were plucked off the bed and stowed back away into the box. Junkrat stood, and walked away. Satya pressed her face more fully against her knees, fighting back the urge to cry. She was so tired. It was so dark.

And then there was a thump and scrape, of a heavy metal box being placed on the floor by the door, and then the bed depressed again when Junkrat sat back down.

This made Satya start, jerking up from her hunked position to stare at Junkrat as he sat on the edge of the bed, wrestling his leg off. She spoke without thinking about the words leaving her mouth.

“You do have your own room, you know,” she pointed out.

“Well sure, but you don't wanna be alone, right?” he said. It was a blunt observation that stilled Satya.

“I... yes, your right. I would... prefer not to be alone right now. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate,” he said simply. The leg was put by the bed, his arm followed. Then from the side he pulled out one last thing: a pair of thermoses.

“If we're not sleepin' anyways, might as well drink, roight?”

Satya opened one and gave it a sniff the warm steam rising from.

“...What is it?”

“Hot milk,” said Junkrat. “Hot milk and... stuff. Can't remember it all anymore. The doc said it was good for sleep. Tastes not half bad either, Gran helped sort out the bits in it.”

Satya hazarded a ship. It was... odd. Not bad, but definitely not a flavour she was used too. She traded thermoses and opened the other.

“This smells like _my_ tea,” she said dryly.

“Well sure, how else would I know you'd like it?”

Satya gave a huff, but it was surprisingly... gentle. Affectionate. She didn't have the energy to analyze that though, not now, so she wrapped her hands around the warm case of the thermos, and curled up against Junkrat's side. Nothing as bony as Junkrat should be this comfortable, and yet it really truly was. And she was unspeakably grateful that Junkrat was willing to lose sleep along with her, just for the sake of sitting up the night with her while she couldn't sleep. She didn't say any of this though, and neither did Junkrat as he sat and sipped tentatively at the hot milk.

By the time the sun was rising through the window of her room, the empty thermoses were sprawled across the sheets and both her and Junkrat were slumped haphazardly against each other, fast asleep.

 


End file.
